THE SICK MAN'S DREAM.

Dans le solitaire bourgade,
Revant à ses maux tristement,
Languissait un pauvre malade,

D'un long mal qui va consumant.-MILLEVOYE.

It was a dream, a pleasant dream, that o'er my spirit came,
When faint beneath the lime-trees' shade I flung my weary frame;
I stood upon a mountain's brow, above the haunts of men,
And, far beneath me, smiling, lay my lovely native glen.

I watch'd the silv'ry Severn glide, reflecting rock and tree,
A gentle pilgrim, bound to pay her homage to the sea;
And waking many a treasured thought, that slumb'ring long had lain:
Some mountain minstrel's harp pour'd forth a well-remember'd strain.

I rais'd my voice in thankfulness, and vowed no more to roam,
Or leave my heart's abiding-place, my beauteous mountain home.
Alas! how different was the scene that met my waking glance !
It fell upon the fertile plains, the sunny hills of France.

The Garonne's fair and glassy wave rolls onward in its pride;
It cannot quench my burning thirst for thee, my native tide;
And, for the harp that bless'd my dream with mem'ries from afar,
I only hear yon peasant maid, who strikes her light guitar:
The merry stranger mocks at griefs he does not understand,
He cannot he has never seen my own fair mountain land.

prey :

They said Consumption's ruthless eye had mark'd me for her
They bade me seek in foreign climes her wasting hand to stay;
They told me of an altered form, an eye grown ghastly bright,
And called the crimson on my cheek the spoiler's hectic blight.

Oh! if the mountain heather pined amidst the heaven's own dew,
Think ye the parterre's wasting heat its freshness could renew?
And thus, mid shady glens and streams, was my young life begun,
And now, my frame exhausted sinks beneath this southern sun.

I feel, I feel, they told me true; my breath grows faint and weak,
And, brighter still, this crimson spot is glowing on my cheek;
My hour of life is wellnigh past, too fleetly runs the sand:
Oh! must I die so far from thee, my dear lov'd mountain land?

Φ.

ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE.

On the 2d of June last, died at Plasnewydd, near Llangollen, the Lady Eleanor Butler, the friend and companion of Miss Ponsonby, the sister of the celebrated speaker of the Irish Parliament. There are few, if any, of the readers of the CAMBRIAN who have not heard of the Ladies of Llangollen; perhaps a short account of whom may not be considered uninteresting, and I know no better authority for it than the Memoirs of the Comptesse de Genlis, who has thrown a considerable degree of romance around them and their abode. The Comptesse states, that while she was staying at Bury St. Edmund's, accompanied by Mademoiselle d'Orleans, the sister of the present duke, she met Lord Castlereagh, afterwards the Marquis of Londonderry; and having observed, in the course of conversation, that she would willingly travel a long journey, for the sake of seeing two persons who had been long united by a sincere bond of friendship; "Then, madam," said he, you should go to Llangollen, where you will see a model of perfect friendship;" and, at the Comptesse's request, he related the following memoir :

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"Lady Eleanor Butler, then (1788) about twenty-eight years of age, was born in Dublin: an orphan from the cradle, and a rich, amiable, and lovely heiress: her hand was sought by persons of the best families in Ireland, but she very early announced her repugnance to marriage. This taste for independence she never concealed; yet no woman was ever more remarkable for mildness, modesty, and all the virtues that embellish her sex. From earliest infancy she was the intimate friend of Miss Ponsonby: by a singular coincidence of events, (which struck their imaginations,) they were both born at Dublin, in the same year, and on the same day, and they became orphans at the same period. It was easy for them to fancy from this, that heaven had created them for each other, to perform together the voyage of life: their sensibility enabled them to realize this illusion. Their friendship so increased with their age, that at seventeen they mutually promised to preserve their liberty, and never to part from each other. They formed, from that moment, the plan of withdrawing from the world, and affixing themselves for ever in the profoundest solitude. Having heard of the charming landscapes of Wales, they made a secret journey thither, in order to choose the place of

retreat.

"They arrived at Llangollen, and there found, on the summit of a mountain, a little isolated cottage, of which the situation seemed to them delicious: there it was that they resolved to fix their abode. The guardians of the young fugitives, however,

traced their steps, and brought them back to Dublin. They declared that they would return to their mountain, as soon as they should have attained their majority. In fact, at twenty-one, in spite of all the entreaties and the arguments of their relatives, they quitted Ireland for ever, and went to Llangollen. Miss Ponsonby was not rich, but Lady Eleanor possessed a considerable fortune: she purchased the little cottage of the peasants, and the land about the mountain, and built a house upon its site, of which the outside is extremely simple, but the interior of the greatest elegance.

"The two friends still possessed, at the foot of the hill, a meadow for their flocks, a beautiful farm-house, and a kitchen. garden. These two extraordinary persons, both of whom possessed the most cultivated minds, and the most charming accomplishments, have lived in that solitude for seven years, (1788,) without having slept out of it in a single instance. Nevertheless, they are far from reserved; they frequently pay visits at the neighbouring gentlemen's houses, and receive, with equal politeness and kindness, travellers, who are either coming from or going to Ireland, and who are recommended to their attention by their old friends."

Madame and her protegé, the young princess, undertook the journey to Llangollen, and they were received with grace and cordiality. She saw nothing in them of that vanity which is gratified by awakening the astonishment of others: they loved each other, and lived in that spot with so much simplicity, that wonder soon subsided into a touching interest: every thing genuine and natural in their manners and conversation. They possessed an excellent library of the best English, French, and Italian authors, which afforded them an inexhaustible source of amusement. The interior of the house was remarkable for the beauty of its proportions: the convenient distribution of the apartments, the elegance of the ornaments and the furniture, and the beautiful views which were visible from all the windows. The drawing-room was adorned with charming landscapes, drawn and painted after nature by Miss Ponsonby. Lady Eleanor was a very good musician; and both had filled their solitary dwelling with embroidery, of which the work was extraordinary. The Arts were cultivated with equal success and modesty; and you admired their productions in this secluded spot with a feeling which you could not experience elsewhere: you were delighted to find, in that peaceful retreat, so much merit, sheltered from the attacks of satire and of envy, and talents that, free from ostentation and pride, never desired, in that spot, other suffrages than those of friendship.

During the night she slept at the cottage, Mad. de Genlis heard, for the first time, a species of melody, as mysterious as it was new to her. She found, next morning, that it proceeded from

an instrument, in England called an "Eolian Harp," on which she beautifully remarks, "It is natural enough that such an instrument should have originated in an island of storms, amid tempests of which it softens the terrors."

"I must not quit Llangollen," she proceeds, "without mentioning the pure manners of that part of Wales: the two friends assured us, that such is their honesty, that often, when they left their mountain to walk in the neighbourhood, they left the key in the cottage door, and were never robbed of any thing, though they had a considerable quantity of silver plate and other valuable articles, which might easily have been carried away. The inns of Llangollen were distinguished by the neatness peculiar to England."

The death of Lady E. Butler will be felt severely by the surrounding poor.

SONNET.

I HAD a love once in a foreign land,

When youth's gay dreams were starting into life,
Like young steeds pawing for the coming strife
Of manhood, and its care-encircled band.

The day ne'er open'd on a fairer cheek,
Nor genius lighten'd from a brighter eye;
Yet gentle was she as the zephyr's sigh,
No tongue her many virtues e'er may speak.

She lov'd as few love on this lowly earth,

All, all for love's sweet self; and I the one
To whom she pledg'd it full, the sun that shone
In her mind's heaven at the infant birth.

But soon she died, and mine the cruel art,

Alas! which won and broke that gentle maiden's heart.

P. M.

To the Editors of the Cambrian Quarterly Magazine.

GENTLEMEN,

I HAVE derived much pleasure from the perusal of that part of the Parochial History of Llanwnog, which gives an account of the Turbary of Mynydd Llyn-mawr: but that pleasure would have been materially enhanced, had the ingenious writer entered more largely into the theory of the origin and formation of peat substance, its various qualities and appearances, its chemical nature, and its adaptation to the purposes of agriculture. Will you allow me, therefore, through the medium of your interesting Periodical, to request the same learned writer to favor us with a series of essays on the above subjects; and also to give us some practical directions as to the best mode of using it as fuel and manure, and of converting the extensive track of turbaries on our hills into productive property. Such essays cannot fail to be highly interesting both to proprietors and occupiers of land, in most districts of the principality. They cannot but be of peculiar interest at the present moment, for another reason: It has been lately contended, in one of the first periodicals of the day, that the expense of converting the bogs of Ireland into arable land, would be considerably less to the government than that attendant on the emigration of its superfluous population.

There are also other considerations recommending the investigation in question. The learned Whitaker, in his elaborate inquiry into the Roman antiquities, in the neighbourhood of Manchester, discovered a Roman road beneath a turbary of considerable depth, which shows that this substance is of a much more recent formation, and, consequently, much more within the scope of our researches than most other geological phenomena. Some philosophers have also conjectured, from the similar disposition of the strata, &c. that coal is the same substance, but in a more perfect modification. Lord Meadowbank has published, I understand, some useful hints for mixing common dung with peat, in order to form excellent manure. And some part of the inquiry has been very ably discussed by Dr. Mac Cullock, in that very useful miscellany the Edinburgh Philosophical Journal.

With every good wish for the success of your patriotic undertaking,

I am, gentlemen,
Yours very faithfully,

MYNYDDWR.

March 1, 1829.